Biography of Angela Wybrow
I now live in Hampshire, UK. I have been writing poetry on and off for many years and really enjoy it. I love writing about a variety of topics and am hoping that there's something for everyone.
Angela Wybrow's Works:
Through My Eyes - United Press (2011)
A Magical Menagerie (2012)
Angela Wybrow Poems
A Headful Of Thoughts
I'm lying here, wide awake Trying hard to get some sleep; But my brain is totally buzzing, So it's useless counting sheep!
When I received a letter from my Dad, Saying he didn't want to meet,
The Missing Sock
This afternoon, I had quite a big shock: I discovered that I have a missing sock! I put my socks inside the washing machine, But now one sock is nowhere to be seen.
The Colours Of My Life
You’ve brightened up my life With colours bold and bright. Black and white and grey, They graced my every day.
A Spring Morning
The sky is the shade of cornflower blue; The clouds in the sky, are extremely few. Caught by the sunshine, everything glows. A fresh, cooling breeze, now gently blows.
A new life, for myself, I need to weave. I need some oxygen, so as I can breathe. From these chains, I need to break free; I need the chance just to be totally me.
This town is becoming like a ghost town; Many of our local shops are closing down. Once upon a time, this town was really hopping, But now people go elsewhere for their shopping.
I take a deep breath and begin to blow, And soon the bubbles begin to flow. From my wand, the bubbles now stream; The sunshine makes the bubbles gleam.
When The Clocks Go Back
I dread the day, when the clocks go back; Of daylight hours, there’s now a real lack. I wish that, like some animals, we could hibernate, As winter is a time of year, which I don’t highly rate.
Hot Air Balloon
I saw a hot air balloon flying over my house: Most of the time, it was as quiet as a mouse, But, every so often, its burners suddenly roared, And higher, up into the sky, it suddenly soared.
The autumn leaves swirl to the ground in their millions. Gold, russet, ochre, burnt umber, and deep vermillion. Down to the ground, the dying leaves flit and flutter; On to the grassy bank, the pathway, and into the gutter.
On a gnarled piece on driftwood, This plump little bird is silently sat. It looks at me, then back at the river; It looks all around, this way and that.
Grey Skies In July
We are now well in to the month of July, But above my head, there's a leaden sky. For days on end, it has constantly rained, And I must say that it's a right old pain.
There's a hag by the name of Jenny Greenteeth; Of human life, she is a well-known thief. She waits under the water of the Old Mill Pond, For an unsuspecting victim to happen along.
When I received a letter from my Dad,
Saying he didn't want to meet,
I decided to go and confront him.
I wasn't going to admit defeat.
'I told you in my letter not to come.
I thought I made that perfectly clear!
It would never work. I don't even know you, '
Were not the words I'd hoped to hear.